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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546632">Nature Morte</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingolfinSilme/pseuds/FingolfinSilme'>FingolfinSilme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>An Odyssey of Neons and Railroad Tracks [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Blues, Butterflies, Evocative, F/F, Fairy Lights, Feminist Themes, Fireflies, Girlfriends - Freeform, Gowns, Indis' room, Jazz - Freeform, Love, Magic, Melancholy, Neons, Night, Patriarchy, Poetry, Secret Relationship, Stream of Consciousness, Telperion, Unhappy marriage, Water, Wedding, Wind - Freeform, electro - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:41:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingolfinSilme/pseuds/FingolfinSilme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night before her wedding, Nerdanel visits Indis for the last time, leaving the Queen with languid and melancholy thoughts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Indis/Nerdanel (Tolkien)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>An Odyssey of Neons and Railroad Tracks [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Finwëan Ladies Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nature Morte</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For finweanladiesweek on Tumblr.</p><p>This story is loosely inspired by Sheree Renée Thomas’ Nine Bar Blues (a brilliant read, btw!!!) I tried to experiment with a different setting and atmosphere, hopefully, my intentions came across alright!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The refreshing night breeze made the Queen’s light nightdress flap in the wind. The hurriedly-fitted fabric drooped off her shoulders and revealed the hot flesh of her arms, shivers rippling down her skin as the green lights of Tirion blurred in her wine-affected eyes, making the entire city shine like one big flickering neon. </p><p>Indis stared at the corners of darkness which the light of Telperion could not quite reach. The darker figure who had just left her embrace slipped back towards the city in silence. If her lover turned back, the Queen could not make it out in the dark. However, she did not leave her watching-place for a long while, hoping that maybe Nerdanel would come back. Creep up on her and put a hand over her mouth to stop her from crying out as she kissed her neck.</p><p>Shuddering, but not because of the cold, Indis finally detached her eyes from the night below and turned back to the fairy-lights of her apartments. The small twinkling garlands framed the large bay window leading to the open terrace, which was plunged into complete darkness, save for the single dim lamp sitting on the tiled floor.</p><p>Idril passed the outdoor sofa, ignoring the blankets that were still piled there. On other nights, she would have left them in expectation of the next day, when she would have made good use of them again. Tonight, however, she left them in scorn and defiance.</p><p>The Queen pushed the sliding door open and entered her large bedroom. The remains of love-making- untucked sheets, discarded hairpins, the smell of Nerdanel’s cologne, the glow of her red hair, the lingering sound of her heavy breathing as she moved above her-provoked a small smile to trickle around Indis’ lips. She turned the record player off and the soft notes of vintage electronic jazz let their place to the heavy silence of the night. Indis closed her eyes and fell heavily onto the bed, throwing herself back so that she was half-lying down on the mattress, arms thrown out on each side.</p><p>Above her, the canopy of the top of the four-poster stretched infinitely into a swirling pool of lights, leaves and water, invisible drops of rain making ripples propagate in neat circles from one side of the tapestry to the other with perfect regularity.</p><p>Indis would have torn it all apart had she had the strength to stand.</p><p>The Queen rolled her shoulders wearily and shifted to bury her head into her lavender-scented pillow.</p><p>Though the smell stung her eyes, Indis did not cry. She rocked her hips, ran a hand through her hair, sank into the mattress as she tried to get her mind off the dread the next day would bring.</p><p>Her fingers traced Nerdanel’s scars and the outline of her large hands, stroked the pearly curve of her hips and when she pulled her down to kiss her, she expected her lips to meet these sharp teeth and this dangerous wet breath that made her chest contract and released all the other muscles of her body. And yet, when she opened her mouth, all Indis could feel was the sharp kiss of contaminated air.</p><p>With a frustrated groan, the Queen sat up, her legs dangling from the edge of the bed, above a pool of murky waters underneath her feet, stretching back to starry mirrors under her bed.</p><p>Her head spun and her gaze, dizzily trying to regain its focus on the real objects in the room, finally fell on the dresser.</p><p>Hands, scars, lips, curves, lost to her careful hand, handed over to the roughness of an inexperienced force of nature.</p><p>The gown hung limply on the hook, floating over its shadow like the omen of gallows whispered around iron bars. Its white gems reflected onto Indis’ skin and tinkled slightly as they were moved by the movement of spectres.</p><p>The <em> kilinkele<em> of a summer night, softer than the brutish bells of celebrations, made Indis’ head spin even more, and soon she was spiralling into that liquid oblivion that came from staring too long at the volatile fire of Lampyridae bugs.</em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Her fingers stroked the empty air before her again, already feeling the loss and grief of loveless nights. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Nerdanel would burn, scorched by an uncontainable and untamable spirit. Would her hands turn black with soot, her freckles open into ghastly pits of dry land, her hair fall out from the lack of lips and breasts and pink sheets? Would she remember the fresh air brought by love on simmering nights? </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Once more, Indis’ eyes fell on the dress’ decolleté, plunging just far enough to attract the ravenous gaze eyes. White as a bridesmaid. But Nerdanel had asked her to wear it, as a small favour to ease her misery.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>This would be the first wedding she attended since her own. Royal marriages did not occur very often, after all. Which was in itself a good thing, for they were usually unbearable.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The eyes of the court and the people, the flash of photographers in their large black coats, hands touching her, pulling at her dress, her hair, pulling up her lips so that a smile sat upon them at all times.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Indis wished she had never married. Or at least that she had chosen more wisely the one she would share her life with. Supposedly, for the room which was hers showed no trace of Finwë’s presence.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The Queen stood up, crossed the few meters of grey swirling marble separating her from the dresser and unhooked her gown from the door. Exhaling sharply, she threw it upon the blackened pages of freehand, sellotaped flowers and butterfly wings littering the floor of the wardrobe. The fabric crumpled and its gleam died as it was abandoned in the dust.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>She would have to attend weddings again, she knew. More than she dared to think of. Her girls would be tainted by the epitome of gowns, sheets and babies. Her boys would find girls to play with, throw them into the seamless oblivion of their family. Drown them in their lust and drunkenness.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Standing still in the middle of her room, shoulders and chest offered to the summer air, Indis started laughing. The pulsations of her vibrating breath moved her shoulders and her smile widened.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The taste of wine spilt on her tongue again, like a palimpsest over the taste of Nerdanel, already buried below layers of bitterness.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>They had shared the cup of golden glass numerous times, trading their grip on the other for a sip of rich mind-numbing wine or rousing liquor.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Gradually, more air escaped the Queen’s mouth and eventually, her eyes burnt with salty gashes and her shoulders shook more perceptibly.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>She had been born too soon. Married too soon. Before she had tasted the honeyed love of another woman before she had met with a spark of hot iron. Now, Indis knew, both would grow withered and old in a man’s house.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Finwë had always been generous with her, of course. <em>Nice.<em> Always offering her necklaces, gowns and hair ornaments. The necklaces of his dead wife. The gowns of his dead wife. The hair ornaments of his dead wife. And their sons were gifted, passionate, strong. Gifted like Fëanor, passionate and strong like him.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Indis always fell short of Fëanor. Even now, for something as trivial and powerful as love, he outdid her. </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Maybe her daughters would be saved. And yet, their husbands would have to be as handsome as Fëanor. As rich. As resourceful. </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Indis gritted her teeth, kicked the netted fabric of the carpet, and wished she was a witch, to possess the magic of herbs and holograms to curse Fëanor, and Finwë, and her father and Nerdanel’s. Tie their tongues and throw them into the bottomless haloed prisons her mind had built for them.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Drifting back to the bed heavily, the Queen thought that she might die.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>As the canopy above began spinning endlessly again, the record player sizzled, cracked and started playing the distorted notes of ambience blues of that final night.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
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